Mountain Magazine: One Tester's Take

As posted by Mountain Magazine @mountainmag bit.ly/13sGpK9

After running in 15 brand new trail shoes for the 2013Mountain trail running test, I have some advice to offer. Think long and hard about what you're looking for. In the pages of the magazine you'll find a shoe for every individual and every condition.

Chris McDonald (Photo by Dave Cox)

Start by knowing the terrain you intend to run. Then take a good look in the mirror. For this (gracefully) aging ex-road racer and track athlete, I had to be honest and admit I can't latch on to sleek, flyweight shoes any more. Instead, I determined what I do need in a shoe by making a shortlist:

Stable and agile. My 5K times look more like my 8K times of 20 years ago. Now, it's less about speed across the finish line than it is avoiding ankle tweaks or back landings after slips. My trail shoe must be stable under foot without sacrificing agility. 

Exceptional fit. Shoe and foot must move as one. No sliding around inside the shoe. No toe jams on downhill segments. The laces must snug properly with no puckering, and I need enough structural support in the upper to prevent rollovers. Soft padding around the ankle and the Achilles helps snug the shoe and prevent rubbing.

Versatility. I like to vary pace and terrain, but I'm not doubling back to the car to change shoes mid-way through the journey, or carrying two pairs of shoes. I want to crank up steep hills, slalom aspen trees and hop rocks on a descent, and get up on my toes and pull hard for the finish line if I decide to enter a legit trail race—all in one pair of shoes.

That sounds simple. But a true one-shoe quiver can be as elusive as beer that actually lives up to marketing hype—great taste and less filling. For me, five shoes quickly separated themselves from the pack:

Mammut MTR 201 Saber-toothed tread and dynamic feel underfoot helps this shoe gobble terrain with Thanksgiving Day veracity. I wanted to hate this shoe for its 80s color palette. Instead, it was my pick of the test.

Vasque Pendulum Though a race-weight entrant, the Pendulum swings with great savvy between get-up-and-go speed and the guts to lay waste to a rutted out scraper trail. I'll lace these up for the GoldenLeaf race on September 21.

TrekSta Sync Ever wanted to run in tiger paws? Imagine a shoe with jungle cat quickness and precision cornering. The natural, low-to-the-ground feel connects you with the trail. And TrekSta's NestFIT alleviates the need for custom insoles or orthotics, making the price point $20 to $200 less than other shoes.

La Sportiva Ultra Raptor This hybrid hike/run shoe combines the rugged durability of a burly hiker with the weight and ride of a running shoe. If I had to run the Leadville 100 tomorrow, these would be on my feet.

Hoka Stinson Evo Seriously, just go run in them. Then we'll talk. It's a Hoka thing. You have to try it to believe it.

Honorable mention goes to the Pearl Izumi E:Motion N1, a trail racing specialist that packs so much engineering into an 8 oz shoe, Mercury himself would shed his winged kicks. Use Mountain's complete test results to pick your tool for the trail, and I'll see you at the Imogene Pass Run or the GoldenLeaf Half Marathon this season. —Chris McDonald | Photo by Dave Cox

Running of Ben Nevis

Thursday, 21 June, 2012

“Winds are from the northeast today. Clouds and rain will be back in tomorrow. ” The words of the chatty host yesterday at Urquhart Castle ring loudly in my head an hour and thirty minutes into the ascent of Ben Nevis. In five minutes clear views over Fort William, the Lochs, and onto the horizon are gone. Visibility through the thick cloud bank is no more than 20 yards. The winds are whipping. It is decision time: push for the summit or turn-back.

Big views to the horizon one minute...

Last night I knew a successful summit of the tallest mountain in the UK would require an early start. Two days of good weather pushed in by winds from the southwest noticeably shifted yesterday. The host at Urquhart Castle explained the weather systems of the Highlands to me while talking fighter jets. No question, there will be a narrow weather window in which to summit Thursday morning.

...the view up the trail 5 minutes later

An early start I got, but broke every rule in the book, namely: Go to bed “run ready.” With no food packed the night before, uncertainty over exactly how to get to the trailhead and navigate the lower trail sections where lots of other trails cut through, I was anything but ready.

“Morning logistics probably cost me an hour and the summit,” I say to myself still debating whether to push on. The forty or so people from the tour coach that started behind me turned back long ago. Three more parties have flipped around while I debate myself.

“I’m not real good with a map and compass in clear conditions,” a woman opting to descend says on her way passed. “Don’t want to walk off an edge I don’t see.”

Her reference is to the 1,000+ foot drop off the north face of Ben Nevis. The cliffs make "Big Ben" a coveted destination for climbers and feared by day hikers. As the route across the final boulder strewn portions of the ascent becomes less clear, most people cling to their compass and map. With neither in-hand, I’m counting on good trail sense.

I make a deal with myself:

1. If the trail’s route is unclear to the point you couldn’t back-track, turn back;
2. If the gusting winds get dangerously sustained, say over 30 mph, turn back;
3. If it starts to rain turning the mountain to slippery slick rock, turn back

Strange looks come from two more parties on the descent. Clad in long pants, burly hiking boots and gators, heavy coats, hats, tightly drawn hoods, and armed with hiking poles, they clearly think I’m nuts, headed for certain death, modestly clad in shorts and a long-sleeve Nike dry-fit running top. I run like this in colder weather all the time. “What’s the big deal?” I say to myself.

Cobbles of Lower Ben Nevis

The lower steeps of Ben Nevis are mostly paved with rocks like a cobblestone staircase. Heavy rains of the Highlands have no doubt washed out the trail many times requiring reinforcement of the trail bed. It didn’t occur to me at the time, but doing the math later that night proves it is more staircase than path. Rising 4,406 feet over a 5 mile ascent works out to an average grade of 16.6%.

The top 1/3 of the trail is less obvious now and beginning to disappear into the clouds. Just when rule number one starts to become applicable a large hulking dark form appears 20 yards ahead. It stands stone still.

“No Bear stands like that on a wind exposed ridge,” I assure myself. It’s a stone carim, built like a castle and tall as man, and ready to withstand more wind than I hope to ever see. Another 20 yards and there is carim and another.

“Hard to keep the trail?” not so much. This is the best marked trail I have ever climbed. All the hub-bub in the guide book looks at once suspect.



Snowfields of Ben Nevis

Another quarter mile and something quite familiar in the Colorado high country but unexpected here comes into focus through the clouds. “It’s the Ben Nevis Glacier,” a woman on a rest break responds to the unasked question written all over my face.

Now I am feeling under geared. The woman and her two companions trudge straight up in their hiking boots, gators, and poles without issue. But it is noticeably soft, more snowfield than glacier, meaning I won’t slide off the mountain – good news.

Three weeks ago I selected the Vasque Velocity trail runners for exactly this ascent, this moment. Traveling as light as possible across Europe for a month meant selecting one pair of walking/hiking shoes to do it all, including the day I would ascend Ben Nevis. I tested fifteen pairs of shoes in May as part of Mountain Magazine’s summer trailing running shoe test. Comfortable walking the cobbles in medieval Bayeux, climbing the stairs of St. Paul and the Eiffel tower, navigating the subways in Paris and London, the shoes must now perform on what I brought them to really do – conquer whatever Big Ben throws my way.

On comes the rest of what little gear I have in my pack. Patagonia rain pants and rain jacket – don’t want to slide down a snowfield on bare skin. That feels like skin over a cheese grater.

One problem, “Where's my hat?” One of the few key pieces of gear I was counting on when I decided to push for the summit is inexplicably absent from my pack. Not quite as bad as a fisherman dropping their fly box in the river but really close. It is the first bumble of the day that truly worries me.

It is cold now. The winds are sustained. The temperature has dropped and the visibility is still poor. I am not even sure how far it is to the summit. The sign at the trailhead said plan for a seven hour round trip. The guidebook said 7 miles up and 7 miles back. But there is no way. One and a half hours into the ascent and standing on a snowfield, Big Ben must be about out of boulder field, right?

The Vasque's deliver. Crossing the snowfiled proves uneventful. The second snowfield is more interesting in that you can just make out the mountain dropping away on the left side. Note to self, keep the snowfields on the left! 

The ruins of an old stone structure come into view. It looks like the old observatory from the photos I saw, but that is supposed to be near the top. Another 100 meters and the ruins of two more stone structures come into focus through the dense clouds.

How about the expansive views from the Summit marker?!

"Is this the top?" I call out through the winds to a heavily clothed hiker sitting against one of the old stone walls.

 "Yes, don't get blown off. The summit marker is right there" he says pointing to something 20 yards away that is invisible through the clouds.

The GPS has the route at 5 miles on the nose. Thank goodness it wasn't the 7 miles listed in the (worthless) guidebook.

The second you stop moving, you start freezing. Exposed to operate the camera for a few quick pictures, my hands are quickly numb. Running the last twenty mintues in a rain suit soaked me from the inside out. The only other guy guy at the summit looks concerned for a moment as I strip off all my base layers to "air out" and change into some dry skivvies. Without a hat, it's still a lot of heat loss out the top and hard to stay warm.

Requisite Summit Pic

The worry turns to the most excitement I have ever experienced for a knit hat when it appears amongst the packing material around my two water bags. Forgot I put it in there to keep them from bouncing around. PHEW!

The carrot cake purchased at the gas station this morning, aged under shrink wrap at least two years, is awful great. It was mildly better than the freeze dried coffee I spilled on myself driving through a round about while shifting the manual transition in our renta-rolla-skate-of-a-car. Of course that is the roundabout with the pea-sized sign for the Ben Nevis visitor center I was supposed to see and didn't while minimizing spill damage. Cripes....could have skipped the (worst ever) coffee and summited while you could see something more than clouds and your rain jacket get turned inside out while your trying to put it back on.

Thirty minutes of downhill running later and it's down right balmy again. Back to shorts and the dry-fit top. It still looks like a bad day on Mt. Washington at the Summit but the rest of Scotland appears to be having a great day.

Forty-five minutes on the descente and all is clear

It is on the descent the 16.6% grade makes itself known. Legs are quivering like a bow string with a mile left. One hour and twenty-nine minutes of squats and lunges is the descent. Once fatigue set in, the stone staircase became formidable, even dreadful. I would much rather run up three-times than come down once.

"You're so lucky" a couch potatoe on the ascent yells as I run passed headed for the valley floor. "I did have to earn the descent" are the playful words that come out of my mouth, a complete lie of course. The descent is Big Ben's way of taking a piece out of you. That guy will figure it out soon enough.

Laura's achilles has been "ok" for a few days now. She is walking around without the gimp and the joy of random shots of nerve pain. Now it's me. The girls make some remark about us not both being able to walk normal at the same time. Two days later and my quads feel worse than after running the Boston Marathon.

"You didn't have to do it in 3:22," Laura reminds me as I stumble around. But she knows I had to run it in at least half the recommended seven hours for the round trip. That's just me.

There is a small epilouge to this tale, or there will be anyway.

Since Laura physically couldn't do the climb and the girls wanted nothing to do with it on a day sure to be stormy, I borrowed a rock off the summit and carried it down. Just like the Hawaiians believe you will be cursed for taking black sand or a lava rock home as a souvenier, it is considered poor form to take a rock off the summit of a peak.

I borrowed the summit rock. It is the girls responsibility to return to Ben Nevis and place it back on the Summit. I intend to go fly-fishing nearby and tip a single malt on the rocks while they do so.

The 4,406 foot summit of Ben Nevis as viewed from sea level

A Great Bad Day at the Boulder Marathon

Bad luck unraveled my day pretty quickly. Just 3+ miles into the race I caught the edge of a pot hole rolling my ankle into it. "Really? A sprained ankle? That's how this one is going to go down" I thought, absolutely stupefied. "We aren't even sweating yet!"

I didn't stop but hobbled like I had a wooden leg. The five runners and a pace biker looked as shocked as me. 

"Are you OK?" came the question with an edge of "how could that be possible" in their voice. That's when I knew it must have looked as bad as it felt. 

"Don't stop," one piece of advice from a fellow runner. "It will seize up right-a-way." 

"We agree," I thought to myself.  

The ankle throbbed like crazy for about a mile and then went numb. Gradually I returned to a seemingly normal gate. 

"Maybe I dodged a bullet?" I thought optimistically until two miles later my right knee started hurting and two miles later my other knee. I tried not to over compensate for my ankle but I must have got a hitch in my giddy up. It gradually unraveled.

By 8 miles I had to stop and rub out my now swollen knee and my right hamstring which had gotten in on the act as well. By 11 miles I knew it was only a matter of time before I couldn't bend my knee or toe off with any power. The crazy thing is everything else felt great. An easy day, hitting all my splits no problem. I stopped at 12 and again at 13 to try and rub out my knee and my hamstring. At the 17 mile mark I knew was done. I used every mental trick in my book to get that far, but by the 17 mile mark my knee was so swollen I had no flex or power.

I walked and jogged to a point just past 19M where I knew Laura and the kids were waiting and was ready to drop out when both my kids said "we'll jog the last 7 miles with you!" 

It was a gorgeous Fall day so why not. We walked and jogged it in. My youngest daughter (age 9) running four miles and my oldest daughter (age 11) finished with me. She thought it was pretty cool when the announcer started cheering for "the pacer" and the whole finish shoot went crazy for her. 

I ended up at 4:13 on my sub 3:15 goal but who cares. The story line changed. The girls had a blast with everyone cheering them on. I have to say, I learned a lot today from my kids and from all the fans and volunteers who were still cheering and carrying on many hours into the day. My worst race turned out to be one of the best in the end. What an unexpected day.

14 Weeks: Boulder Marathon Race Plan

“Self?” I asked into the mirror, “What is your goal?”

After a good look into my own eyes, I answered.

“Is that achievable in this race?”

Not yet, I thought as my eyes stared back unconvinced. Try again.

“Self, what is your goal?

Ok, I thought, under the circumstances that holds water and leaves room for a break through. One last question: 

“How are going to get it done? What’s your plan?”

Fourteen weeks ago, Memorial Day, I set a goal to build enough fitness to be able to run far enough to respectably complete the Boulder Marathon on Labor Day. I was starting from scratch and knew when I set the goal it wasn’t enough time to get truly race ready. But my goal was the preparation, not the race.

Going into tomorrow’s race, I already completed my primary goal:

"To get fit enough to respectably run the Boulder Marathon.”

That sure takes the pressure off when I haven’t attempted anything over a friendly 10K in nearly three years. It gives me, the enduring runner (http://runfrost.blogspot.com/2011/08/14-weeks-enduring-runner.html), an opportunity to enjoy the day and a return to fitness.

The "break-through opportunity", that’s the challenge goal:

 “Don’t be afraid to flex your new found fitness, form, 

and intelligence for this race to punch a return ticket to Boston.”

Whether I run Boston or not isn’t the point. It’s the measuring stick we all use, so why not? It’s our sports major championship of the year, the Marathon’s version of the US Open. Like Golf’s US Open (with a slightly larger field), every amateur can do it as long as they qualify. Boston has become so popular you need to be at least five minutes under the 3:20 qualifying time to get in. 

So there it is, sub 3:15. Slower than my other six marathons and 18 minutes short of a PR, the time still feels quick on 14 weeks of training, but I have real evidence to trust come meat and potatoes time in the race.

That’s the goal – now the plan. It begins, first and foremost by acknowledging doubts that will inevitably creep into my mind and arming myself with the mental tools to fend them off when fatigue sets in. I thought detailed race plans, “self talk” and “visualization” tactics were a tad corny right up until I started running PRs. You can talk yourself into or out of a great day with how you prepare to handle the inevitable test of truth that happens between your ears.

The Plan:

You succeed today by trusting your preparation, great patience, managing your resources, and enjoying your new found fitness. 

·      You wake early – 5:15am, ready to get after it well before your alarm clock sounds. You slept well though sometimes antsy with the anticipation. It’s a race day!

·      My perfect race is simply to give a full account of my training and run as hard and intelligently as I am able. I already achieved my goal in building the fitness to rightfully toe the line today. A sub 3:15 BQ is secondary, but something I am ready to step up and achieve come crunch time.

·      It’s been a while since you finished dinner at 4pm yesterday afternoon so you wouldn’t be heavy this morning.

·      Your favorite bagel and peanut butter with liquid jet fuel, Perpeteum mixed with 20 ounces of water, some CoQ10 with Idebenone and Choline with Inositol – the breakfast of champions!

·      A quick shower – no softening of the tissue. No shave – that was the night before. A wake up call to the power houses of the day via some muscle activation drills. Ok – all systems go & accounted for!

·      An Americano Doppio and it’s time to grab the gear and go.

·      Your clothes are laid out from the night before. You dress quickly. A few quick hops, and more activation. A quick check for all tools of the trade – chip, number, flats, extra clothes in the bag, water bottles, gels, and a small snack bar for shortly before the race.

·      6:30 am – Depart for the Res with plenty of time to stay relaxed and gradually warm the legs.

·      On the drive, you run through your key work outs savoring the confidence that has come from solid preparation. You remember the key strength and confidence building runs. You will need these later when it is time to call on all that strength.

ü  The 18+ mile night run around the Res that looped in parts of today’s course

ü  The strength and power of your 2 x 10K workout a month ago under the lightining

ü  The 21 mile “no chain day” looping today’s course just a month ago

ü  3 x 5K cut downs just 3 weeks ago and averaging under 6:40 on last two

ü  A surprisingly easy 1:30 in the Heart + Soul Half Marathon two weeks ago when you were just clicking along to prepare for today

·      You arrive at The Res confident knowing you have done the work

·      No more than 5 minutes of light jogging, just enough to get the blood pumping and warm the muscles up for a light stretch.

·      7:15am – Gear up – shoes, laced firm around the toe box to keep the toes from jamming in the shoes on the downhill sections. Don’t forget the Band-Aids!

·      7:20 am – head to the start line and find a spot to settle in behind the fast starters.

·      One minute to go, more hops, pitter patter feet. A quick check of all systems. You are relaxed, you are sharp, and you are ready to roll.

You broke today’s race into six parts to help you manage everything it will throw at you.

1. Eight Up - The first 8 miles climb 400 to 500 feet .

·      On the start line you think about patience. Off with the gun! You quickly settle into your rhythm – light and efficient.

·      First steps are choppy as everybody seeks out enough room to drop comfortably into their stride. A few minutes – that's better. You notice your light & quick your stride – a key to the day. Smile!

·      You go out smoothly at a controlled and relaxed even pace.

·      Today is like having home field advantage; you know every corner, every stretch of the route, every up and down. It is always beautiful this time of the day at The Rest. You picked this race for a return to running for these exact reasons – enjoy it!

·      You wind around the west side of the reservoir and before you know it there is Monarch Road and the 2 mile mark – 14:30 to 14:40 was a nice way to gently ease into this race.

·      It’s too early for any dark patches, but once you start running the “how do I feel?” questions always begin. Classic doubts – “I feel heavy. A little lethargic. What does that mean?” – but you know, the first 4 miles of a race usually don’t feel great. It is a short warm-up, you have tons of glycogen built up your liver if you prepared right. You should feel heavy, like a jet on an oceanic flight you have a full fuel load on board. Feeling a little heavy is feeling prepared to go the distance today.

·      Turning left onto Niwot Road, the grade tips up. You trust your light, quick, cadence. A little more pressure on the legs feel great. You are patient. It’s the early rounds with this heavy weight and you’re just dancing.

·      Right onto 49^th and the road flattens for a moment, a quick respite with a shot of downhill to stride out before it tips up again. You eased gently into this race and now notice the benefits. You’ve cut it to 22 miles and your settling in. The potential heaviness is gone, your muscles are warm and firing really efficiently. You are managing your resources perfectly!

·      Up to Oxford Road, a tried and true friend of the Boulder Backroads and part of this loop you could run with your eyes closed. You looped it or 22 miles before a PR at Boston and again before a PR in Half at Las Vegas. This is like putting on house slippers. You roll!

·      6 miles at the turn onto 39^th, another favorite stretch, and you’re in comfortably around  43:30 and 44:00 and really starting to feel great – the depth of your preparation is now readily apparent. Around 45 minutes is where you always start getting in a rhythm on long-runs. This is the first time to start answering the inevitable “how do I feel?” questions. It’s impossible to feel anything but great at this point so don’t get excited. Be smart. Patient.

·      Two more light, quick, uphill miles and you arrive at Nelson Road. Your legs performed brilliantly for 58+ minutes and 8 miles of uphill. You marvel how gently you eased through this opening round of the fight and celebrate with your first gel – swish it with water and swallow.

2. Easy Two - Miles 9 + 10 are a reward. You drop quickly, 350 feet over just two miles.

·      You’re smart and know this is prime recovery opportunity, a chance to relax and make sure you have your lungs and legs under you. Hammer these downhill miles and you burn to much quad strength before getting into the guts of the race.

·      You relax and let it roll, enjoying the chance to tick some easy miles off the day’s total.

·      Your quick light strides, might feel a bit choppy, but using gravity effectively feels like a controlled fall down the hill.

·      The furthest thing from jack hammering those quads down the hills is you. Contact with the road is like a quick dip of the toe in the water to check the temp. Quick, quick, quick touches.

·      A right hander off Nelson Road and back onto the famous dirt roads North of Boulder. You arrive at 10M in 1:12:30 to 1:13:00 totally psyched – only two hours to go, the race is moving along brilliantly.

·      You are excited, but also relieved. 10 miles in you know the bug that got you on Wednesday is history. You know there is plenty of fuel in the tank. You know you have the legs. Now it is a matter of execution. The day is laid out before you. A chance to step up and accept the challenge ahead that will put all these resources to the test.

3. The Rollers: miles 10 – 12 might lots of short steep ups and steep downs on narrow dirt roads make it feel like a roller coaster.

·      The downs are a threat to the quads while the lungs are a spike to the heart rate. Simply put, you won’t ever get comfortable in this section which is why you coasted from 8 to 10. “Time to dig in!”

·      You stay light on your feet, high cadence, good turnover, no pounding or macho crap.

·      You gain 150 feet or so over these rollers. They have plenty of bite but you could chew the high leg off this section if you wanted, but today you just swat it away like a pesky mosquito as the real battle still lies ahead.

·      You take the first real jabs of the day, and smile at the top of every roller. It’s completely within you today.

4. The Calm B4 the Storm – miles 12 to 17 are mostly downhill or flat (-350 feet)

·      You turn left back onto your old friend Oxford Road totally psyched – the half-way point is just ahead and you know 12 – 17 are very much in your favor.

·      You cross 13M between 1:34 and 1:35 knowing you are easily on pace for your stretch goal and have managed to get to this point with little wear and tear. You have run smart and managed resources very well.

·      You finished the Heart+Soul Half Marathon two weeks ago in 1:30 feeling fresh and good for several more miles at 6:50 pace. At 7:15 to 7:20s today, you are simply that much more relaxed and comfortable. You are ready to ease into the back half of the race full of the confidence that you have been here before having done a greater workload than today.

·      A short uphill and now a long, steep, downhill. Super light and focus on low impact to the quads. Your cadence is high, light and quick, your quads embrace the work load and are quick to respond.

·      You know this section is a bit of a psyche job. The 350 feet of downhill will reverse itself and you’ll repeat every step of this from 18 to 22 miles when the battle will truly be waged. It’s like running into a trap – you can get in but you can’t get out without a fight.

·      Enjoy the prelude. Simply show the course your form and make it realize you will be no easy prey today. It is you who is in charge.

·      You succeed today by trusting your preparation, great patience, managing your resources, and enjoying your new found fitness. 

·      At the bottom of the hill you hit 14 miles and break out your second gel pack between 1:41 and 1:42.

·      You enjoy the long run down to the turn-around at mile 17 which you hit just over 2 hours (2:03 to 2:04)

5. Another Heart Break Hill – from the turn to nearly 22 miles the grade flips around again and goes up. This is the meat and potatoes of the race.

·      It’s time to step up and embrace the day. This is why you were patient – the opportunity to press your fitness and will into the heart of the course.

·      At 19M the grade goes up. Another gel pack swished with water and it’s meat and potatoes time.

·      This is Boulder’s version of Boston’s Heartbreak Hill only it is about the hill – 150 to 200 feet in 1.5 miles or less to the high point near the 21 mile mark.

·       In 1936, John A. Kelly’s heart was broken at Boston by Tarzan Jones when her surged away to win the race forever leaving the hill to be known as Heart Break Hill. Boston’s Heartbreak Hill is only 88 vertical feet over 600 meters, the top of which is also the 21 mile mark.

·      You remember Boston in 2007, that hill and bite but you powered right up it using your hard earned strength built during a Winter spent training on this very road and this very hill! How funny to be using Boston imagery to race up the very hill you used to train for Boston’s Heart Break Hill.

·      Quick cadenced, hips forward, chin down as you glide right up. You feel the exertion – it's glorious. You marvel at this hill and how lifting your cadence so subtlety lifts you right up the hills.

·      You crest Boulder’s Heartbreak and your closing in on the 21 mile mark which you reach between 2:32:15 (7:15s) to 2:34:00 (7:20s)

·       A quick downhill to catch your breath and one more up, the last one with real bark. Same thing – quick cadence, hips forward, chin down, your form lifts you right up the hill.

·      You round the corner at the top and turn South onto 49th. You see the 22 mile mark ahead and now it is downhill from here.

·      You grab the last gel pack as you head into the aide station at mille 22 in around 2:40 to 2:43. This is a key checkpoint:

o    At 2:40 you’re already a nip under 3:10 pace.

o   At 2:43 you’re tracking perfectly toward a low 3:14.

o   2:44 and you’re still in a great position to roll these last 4 miles of downhill and dip under 3:15.

·      “Commit or Quit?” the question has already been through your mind many times by now. Each time you know your 21 mile no chain day, your 2 x 10K workout, were right saying “you got this!”

·      But now you’re out 22 miles the effort has been hard and you’re spent. From here it’s will power and trusting your training.

·      “You can talk yourself into or out of a good race” you tell yourself. You know it is true. You have been here before – CIM06, NYC 97, Austin 06, Grandma’s 98, Boston 07, each time you hit 22 mile mark with a split within 2 minutes of each other, yet you finished between 2:57 and 3:10. How does 2 minutes become a finish range of 13 minutes you ask yourself already knowing the answer?

·      This is it “the moment of truth” where you are able to step up and achieve or be presented with a hard fact – you’re about to pay the price for not being honest with yourself.

·      “It’s meat and potatoes time” the voice in your head shouts – you are ready to commit.

·      This is what you have waited for and why your patience persisted for 18 miles. Time to reap the rewards.

·      You remember the “commit or quit” at Boston. You got a stitch in your right side after cresting Heart Break Hill and taking your last gel. You could have easily quit. That’s a legitimate excuse, right?

·      You isolated that pain and ran with it 1.5 miles fully committed. That stupid frame in your head.

·      Remember the frame!?

·      At the race expo the day before Boston, you ordered a commemorative frame, something you have never done before and never thought you would do. But on this day you used it to commit to running a sub 3:00 PR on a day you knew would be among the worst in Boston’s history.

·      The thought of seeing that frame arrive in the mail with any time that stared with a “3” in the hours slot was so incredibly unacceptable to the hours of train you put in that you could get through anything. Twenty mile an hour wind gusts, freezing rain in your face, a stitch at 22 miles – anything.

·      For over 4 miles, meat and potatoes time, all you pictured was that stupid wooden frame with a "2" in the hour slot. That was a commit! Many people threw in the towel that day before the race ever started.

·      Well, there are plenty of doubts today, plenty of reasons you could “quit” and jog it in:

o   You were sick last week

o   Your training over 14 weeks was plenty short on 20+ mile runs.

o   Your chronically sore right hammy has probably been tight for the past 5 miles.

o   Your quads are likely on the edge of failing; calves are probably screaming

o   You could quit and latch onto the14 weeks of preparation having been enough to meet your goal. This wasn’t it – the last 4 miles of hell aren’t required.

·      You Commit! These doubts are just that. Your 4 miles from the barn. You put yourself in the exact position you wanted. This is what you have waited & trained for, this is what you want.

·      Of course, you committed yesterday. You did something you swore you would never do. Over your own better judgment you actually put this on Facebook!

·      Good God what were you thinking!?

·      Perhaps that it would power you through these decisive miles. That posting a BQ would say it all and not just sub 3:20, but sub 3:15.

·      “My perfect race today is simply to give a full account of my training and run as hard and intelligently as I am able.”

·      You’re at the door step. You have this. Though you feel the wear and tear, you acknowledge it means you earned the right to press your will and your fitness right in the face of every doubt the Marathon has to throw at you.

·      You have great confidence in your preparation for this defining stretch. You enjoy the exertion and strain of a worthy, home course. You relish every step. Here the legacy of this proving ground North of Boulder is being lain down. You run with gratitude, guts, grace & pride. You commit to bringing it home. To fail is one thing, but not to have tried, to have caved under the weight of doubts, critics who like to mock but never get in the ring and mix it up, that is a fate worse than failure. You have nothing to lose. You Roll!

6.       Home Stretch!

·      Before the thoughts of commitment are out of your mind, your already turning onto Niwot Road.

·      Niwot Road! You smell the barn!

·      FOCUS AND BUCKLE DOWN – you apply your rhythmic and methodical pace and cadence exactly as envisioned. Unstoppable, immutable…you are worthy.

·      Your  hips go forward, vision fixed firmly 10 yards ahead, as your feet and knees churn like pistons. You are now flying picking off a few of those less prepared.

·      You roll!

·      Right back onto 55^th and past the same Monarch Road you crossed 22 miles ago. The 2 mile mark is the 24 mile mark on the road home. Nice to see you again Monarch Road!

·      You roll!

·      You pass the 25 mile marker – the adrenaline wells up from secret stores opened in July and March pounding out miles on long hot roads.

·      You know the success goes to those who step up to receive—YOU STEP UP, STRIDE OUT with quickness, lightness & strength.

·      Your adrenaline and will power lift your pace – each step carrying you to a BQ that seemed impossible just 14 weeks ago.

·      You see the line – elation. Sheer unfettered joy wells up in recognition of an effort well delivered.  You’re back. The Enduring Runner is back.

·      This run was about finding yourself once again on the back roads North of Boulder Reservoir. You did and you’re back. The Enduring Runner is Back!

Head Games: My Mental Preparation for the Boulder Marathon

The first time I sat down and meticulously wrote a race plan I thought it was ridiculous right up until I ran a PR. The result, on no less than one of the worst weather days in Boston Marathon history, came in the face of wind and rain that left most of the field dramatically slower than usual. The difference was not my feet but several months spent preparing my brain to battle whatever the day threw at me. I’ll have to post the plan one day for laughs. Let’s just say it could have passed as Stuart Smalley’s “Daily Affirmations” on Saturday Night Live.

Vaunted distance and triathlon coach Bobby McGee (http://bobbysez.blogspot.com/) convinced me to write it. Honestly, I thought his book “Magical Running” was full of warm and fuzzy idealism until I started achieving break through results and not just in running. Calling Bobby from Boston after the 2007 race to say “thank you” was one of those spine tingling moments where you realize placing your trust in somebody smarter and more experienced than yourself enabled you to accomplish something you couldn't have done on your own. Bobby proved to be just the Yoda I needed. Now I meticulously draft race plans ahead of every big test; plans Stuart Smalley would be proud of and I would be mortified by if it ended up on Facebook.

I started physically writing my race plan for the Boulder Marathon two weeks ago, three weeks ahead of the race. However I started building up the evidentiary base for the plan in July based on a progression of key workouts and planting some simple triggers in my mind, fuel system, and mechanics.

Every distance runner knows the Marathon is a truth test. There is nowhere to hide when the inevitable dark patches of every Marathon creep into the mind. You can talk yourself into or out of a great race. A half-way split that fills you with the confidence that “this is my day” can unravel into walking chunks of the last 10K at a loss for answers to “what went wrong?” The marathon preys mercilessly on short cuts in preparation. Arm your mind with the tools and supporting evidence to overcome doubts with truths and you will talk yourself to a lot of good days.

That is what Bobby did for me. He developed the positive “self talk” and “visualization” I needed to overcome doubts during the darkest of patches. He helped me learn how to build a compelling base of evidence and the mental skills to call upon it at the right time in the race to overcome challenges you may never have imagined. The mental debate is inevitable – acknowledge and prepare for it.

So what’s my plan for the Boulder Marathon, a race I acknowledge to be to lightly trained to run next week?

Against my better judgment, I’ll post my plan on Saturday. Maybe you can help me put the finishing touches on it. 

14 Weeks: The Enduring Runner

I blame Gmail.

Logging onto the Bolder Boulder’s website late on Memorial Day to confirm the great race my 9 year old daughter and I ran together, I got side tracked. The myriad of links, banner ads, and queued up emails on the screen before me are a thousand different doors tempting you to open them with a click and be swept off on a new and intriguing topic. Soon you are link jumping all over the place, usually forgetting how you got there or what you were doing in the first place. Ok…I blame my inability to focus.

“I could do that,” I thought as the new Boulder Marathon website loaded up in my browser. The words “New Date” suckered me into clicking the link. Long a favorite local route, the original “Boulder Backroads” race was traditionally run at end of September, a time ripe with scheduling conflicts. As hundreds of tiny pixels conspired to reveal the new date – “Labor Day” – I knew I was had.

Twenty-three times I have circled the Bolder Boulder route on Memorial Day. My friends and family always know where to find me once a year.  We plan our lives around it.

“Labor Day,” I said to myself, “the other bookend to summer.  The other Monday holiday. Memorial Day’s Siamese-twin.”

Five minutes later I was registered. Another two minutes and I had counted the interval between the bookends of summer – 14 weeks.

Fourteen Weeks!

What was I thinking?

I’m not in shape for this. I spent all winter on skis and a snowboard.  I haven’t run a step since November and not many steps then. Other than a couple of six week crash training programs to get me through Hood-to-Coast the last two years, I haven’t done any training of consequence since the end of 2008 – two-and-a-half years!

What was I thinking?

Fourteen Weeks!

I blame myself. I am the problem. An addict.

No matter where I am. No matter what I am doing. No matter how long it has been. There is always something calling in the back of my mind.

It is the reason I pack running shoes on every business trip even if I haven’t used them in six months. Knowing that I could slip them on at any time and go is mentally as important as actually doing it.

I am an enduring runner.

It certainly isn’t the call of “Glory Days.” First of all, there wasn’t all that much Glory. When your College Football team plays in back-to-back national championship games, no other sports exist. And, that is no complaint. I hope the Golden Buffs and John Embree see that vaunted January game again soon.

Second, I have no romanticized notion of running or old dreams yearning to be fulfilled. I was eager to begin post-collegiate life with a new set of goals and priorities that didn’t include strings of 80+ mile weeks, meals of top ramen and lima beans, night cramps, 8 hour bus rides to places like Ames, Norman, Stillwater, Lincoln, Lawrence, and Manhattan (KS). The memories are still great, but they don’t define me, let alone call me back.

So what forces caused me in just 5 minutes to voluntarily submit my name for a 14 weeks fool’s errand?

The truth is it has been in the making the entire two-and-a-half years since I did any training of consequence. In the back of my mind I knew the whole time. I knew I was cheating myself.

Five hundred years ago, Leonardo da Vinci, the Renaissance Man of “unquenchable curiosity" and "feverishly inventive imagination" remarked how much creativity and inventiveness suffered as people no longer escaped without news for a month to be among their own thoughts. His time away from Florence and Rome often precipitated his best work.

William Power’s work Hamlet’s Blackberry deals with the conundrum of connectedness in a world far more distracted than that of da Vinci; a world that is my own.

When I book myself in “Outdoor Conference Room” for two hours, I am a better thinker. I return a better teammate. A better leader.

My best ideas are earned while sweating it out over a 15 to 20 mile loop. A period of time when the mind naturally allows only one thought in at a time – like a single file line prioritized by some unconscious cerebral process activated by the rhythm of a body gliding down a back road. The discipline and routine critical to endurance athletes are essential ingredients of any successful professional. Studies consistently show early risers that begin the day sweating are among the most successful at their craft.

In the five minutes it took to volunteer myself for 14 weeks of crash Marathon training, there was a simple acknowledgement that it was about the 14 week process to return a life to balance that had wobbled badly off axis.

Areté, perhaps the most articulated of aspirational Greek values, is the pursuit of harmony between mind, body, and soul that is required to achieve your highest human potential. It seems appropriate the pursuit of one distinctly Greek value should come through preparation for an event born of the same place. The herald Pheidippides collapsed and died of exhaustion from covering the 42km between Marathon and Athens. Time and again, my exhaustion and potential collapse are born of a life without balance. A life without the energy running feeds to my mind, body, and soul.

Two weeks from another duel with the Marathon, I fear I haven’t done enough training to survive the distance without the final 10K turning into a death march. That is not only likely, but inevitable – I will suffer mightily.

I am absolutely exhilarated however. The preparation for this test has returned me to a sustainable life-style where all phases of my life are indeed showing signs of life.

What was I thinking?

I needed to find myself once again on the dirt roads north of Boulder Reservoir.